


Step In Twice

by mrs_d



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, First Meetings, Hopeful Ending, MCU Kink Bingo, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Mannie is watching the river when a strange woman runs into her. (Literally.)





	Step In Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Note the "Emotional/Psychological Abuse" and "Suicidal Thoughts" tags. Both these incidents occur in the past, but the characters discuss and reflect on them. 
> 
> Title comes from the famous words of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus: "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river, and he's not the same man."
> 
> Written for MCU Kink Bingo. Square was "Mantis x Nebula".

Mannie is watching the tendrils of her favorite willow tree sway in the strong, river-scented breeze. The heat wave finally broke last night — in spectacular fashion, with lightning that tinged the whole sky and thunder that made the ground under Mannie’s sandals shake as she walked home, umbrella-less on purpose.

The temperature today is much more comfortable. In fact, here in the shade, when the wind picks up, Mannie is almost chilly. But she refuses to take her cardigan out of her backpack; it’s still mid-July, after all. The cardigan is for the air-conditioned lab, and that’s it.

She’s almost home now anyway — or  _ you would be if you quit dallying, _ she hears Ego say in her head. She shakes it, and the unpleasant memories of him, away. 

The river has always been her weakness. So much life in so small a space. She could spend hours here, observing the perfect ecosystem preserved by the hard work of her lab. It is hers now; it took the university three years to take her complaints about Kurtis Ego seriously. (And no, that’s not a nickname.) The stories she’s heard since taking his position....

Her lab’s reputation is slowly rebounding, and she’s proud of that, but it’s hard. She needs these breaks by the river. Time was, she came here to get away, seeking any — every — escape. Now it’s better. Now, she can take comfort in the scene, rest and recover from the difficult day-to-day job of getting out from under Ego’s—

A woman runs into her. “Oof,” Mannie says, stumbling back.

“Sorry,” says the woman, breathless. She isn’t looking at Mannie at all, which is probably why she ran into her. She’s turning her head in all directions, her eyes wide and panicked.

Alarm bells ring in Mannie’s head before she’s even done taking in the woman’s appearance — short blue mohawk, tattoos on her brown skin that make it look like her skull is fused together with metal plates. More art down her arms, on the backs of her hands. Hands which, Mannie realizes belatedly, are carrying a pair of pearly high heels and a huge bouquet. And she’s in a white dress — not fancy, but long, with layers of chiffon that float down to the grass. The edges are dirty and grass-stained.

“Are you okay?” Mannie asks. It’s a stupid question. The bride is hyperventilating, her eyes darting every which way, like she’s in a crowded room and not on an elevated river bank with no one but Mannie and a few ducks for company.

Mannie turns, tries to see what the bride is looking at, but there’s nothing chasing her. They’re in kind of an isolated spot, sheltered by the willows and a little ways off the main trail. It’s quiet here, but Mannie knows there’s a playground to the west and a pavilion about a quarter mile to the east.

A pavilion that’s booked almost every Saturday in the summer for a wedding.

“Come on,” says Mannie. She almost reaches out, thinks better of it, and gestures instead. “There’s a path down to the water through here, they won’t find us.”

“Us?” the bride repeats. Her eyes are shiny and out of focus.

“Yeah,” says Mannie. “I’m coming with you.”

“Why?” asks the bride. Her voice is deep, rough with a smoker’s cough. “You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know the trail,” Mannie counters. “I’ll show you so you don’t fall.”

“Okay,” says the bride doubtfully, but she follows Mannie to the trail opening. The bank is steep here, and rocky in places — Mannie watches the bride from the corner of her eye, worried about her bare feet, but she seems to manage just fine.

At the water’s edge, she breathes a little easier, and so does Mannie. “This way,” Mannie says, pointing. She leads them along the curve in the river, heading in the opposite direction of what she assumes the bride is running away from.

Her hunch is proven right a minute later when she hears someone — a man — yelling at the top of the bank they just descended. Mannie can’t make out the words, but she doesn’t have to. Between the furious tone and the way that the bride seizes up like a machine with no oil, she can guess that this is who she’s escaped.

“It’s okay,” Mannie tells her in a low tone. She dares to nudge the bride a little — she’s solid and doesn’t budge, but she doesn’t push back, either. Mannie points towards a small overhang, guarded by saplings. “There. He can’t see us.”

“Are you sure?” the bride whispers.

“Positive,” says Mannie. “I know these banks better than the layout of my own apartment.”

“That’s weird,” the bride comments. Her voice has no inflection; Mannie can’t tell if she’s kidding or not.

“Probably,” Mannie agrees, and leaves it at that.

They no sooner reach the overhang when there’s a rustle and another shout, a single syllable. The bride flinches again.

“What is he saying?” Mannie asks. It’s more rhetorical than not; speaking her thoughts out loud is an academic habit she’s never quite been able to break.

“Nell,” the bride mutters. “My legal name,” she clarifies a moment later. “I hate it.”

“Ah,” says Mannie. “Well, mine’s Emanuela, so I feel your pain.”

The bride takes a closer look at her. Mannie’s used to people doing this when they learn her full name. “Isn’t that Spanish or something?”

“I think it’s Hebrew, actually,” Mannie corrects her. Then, with a knowing smile, she adds, “It’s not Korean, that’s for sure.”

“Oh.” A ghost of a smile flits over the bride’s face. “So what do people call you instead?”

“Mannie. Or Mantis if you work for me,” Mannie replies.

The bride scrunches up her nose. On someone whose appearance — wedding dress not withstanding — screams Tough Girl, the gesture is adorable. “Why do they call you that?”

“I’m an entomologist,” Mannie explains.

Nebula’s eyes flit down and back up. “That explains the shirt.”

Mannie looks down, too, remembering what she’s wearing. It’s her favorite science joke shirt: a giant bug doing lab work, and the caption says  _ Don’t bug me, I’m doing science. _

“I guess it is pretty obvious,” Mannie agrees with a smile. “Anyway, I wrote my PhD. on mantids, so—”

“Gross,” says the bride in that same flat tone as before. Mannie decides to take it as a joke this time and chuckles.

“I get that reaction a lot.” The bride seems to have relaxed a little, so Mannie takes another chance. “What about you?”

“Astronomer,” the bride answers.

It’s Mannie’s turn to be surprised. The only astronomers she’s met have been older and whiter than any star she’s ever seen. Usually male, too. 

“So people call me Nebula,” the bride finishes.

“Nebula,” Mannie echoes. “I like it.”

“Me too,” says Nebula with another tentative smile. “Been thinking about changing it legally, but I just haven’t got around to it yet.”

Mannie nods. She wants to know more about Nebula, about the circumstances of their meeting, but she also doesn’t want to upset her again.

“That’s my dad up there,” Nebula says, eliminating the need for Mannie to ask. “He’s pissed.”

“Yeah,” Mannie agrees, not sure what more she can say.

Nebula crouches, the layers of her chiffon skirt pooling around her ankles, and swipes at a rock with her hand. A second later she sits, dropping her shoes and flowers off to the side.

_ You’ll ruin your dress,  _ Mannie thinks of saying, but she doesn’t. It might be taken as a judgement, and, besides, it’s pretty obvious that Nebula isn’t concerned about the dress or anything it represents.

“Can’t blame him,” she goes on suddenly. “I mean, I’d be.”

“Be what?” asks Mannie, a little lost.

“Pissed,” Nebula replies swiftly. “I mean, he paid for all this…” She gestures at the dress, the shoes, the bouquet. “This freak show.”

She shivers slightly, rubbing the tops of her bare arms. Mannie pulls her bag off her shoulders and opens it, tugs out the grey cardigan that’s still in there from yesterday.

“Here,” she says, offering it to Nebula. It’s dirty — she brought it home from the lab to wash it this weekend — but it’s better than nothing, and Nebula clearly agrees because she pulls it on right away.

“Thanks,” she says, tugging it closed around the top of her dress. “Wish I had my smokes. Or my purse. I didn’t bring anything with me. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Mannie nods. She’s remembering the time that Ego cornered her. She barely got away, but she ended up locked out of her apartment that night because she left her keys in her desk drawer and she was too afraid to go back to the lab in case he was still there.  

Nebula looks out out at the river, where two ducks are diving for food, their white tails and orange feet in the air. “I just had to get gone,” she says. “Dad came into the trailer where I was getting dressed, and he said something— it’s stupid,” she interrupts herself.

“No, it’s not,” says Mannie.

“Kinda is,” Nebula protests. She closes her eyes, and Mannie sees the moisture that’s gathered on her lashes.

Mannie knows there’s nothing she can say to make this better, nothing she can do. She sits beside Nebula on the cold, lumpy rock and waits.

“And it just hit me,” Nebula goes on after a moment. “He’s never gonna change. He fucked my life up, and he’s never gonna realize it. He’s never gonna apologize or try to make it better. He’s just…”

“Oblivious?” Mannie suggests quietly.

“Exactly,” says Nebula. “And today I’m supposed to get married to his best friend’s son, and I don’t even like the guy. Hell, I’m not even sure I like guys at all.”

She freezes a little, like she’s just realizes what she just said. After a second she sends Mannie a sideways, nervous look.

“I get that, too,” says Mannie, and Nebula relaxes again.  

“He was supposed to walk me down the aisle,” she says. “Like he’s— like we’re some normal family. Like he hasn’t spent the last twenty-eight fucking years treating me like his own personal punching bag.”

Her voice cracks and falters, the tears fall from her eyes and disappear into the folds of her dress. Mannie hesitates, then takes Nebula’s hand and holds on. Nebula squeezes back.

“Thanks,” she mutters. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

“I’m always here,” Mannie says, choosing not to address the other, darker side of Nebula’s words. “This is my favorite spot.”

Nebula’s shimmering eyes take in the scene, and she smiles sadly. “I can see why.”

“Lots of bugs,” Mannie adds, as an afterthought, and it shakes a small laugh out of Nebula’s throat.

“Bet I can get a good view of the stars here, too,” she says, her eyes moving skyward.

“Probably,” says Mannie. She waits until Nebula looks down again to ask, “So what are you going to do?”

Nebula sighs. “I don’t know. Stay here, I guess, till the heat dies down.”

“That could be a while,” Mannie says. Her voice does that scientific, matter-of-fact thing that suits the lab better than real life, but Nebula doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yep,” she says, shifting on the rock. “Might have to wait for dark.”

“Isn’t there someone you can call?” Mannie asks. Nebula takes her hand away — Mannie had forgotten she was still holding on and feels a little disappointed to let go.

“Not really,” Nebula replies. “My sister, maybe, but she might just be a bitch about it.”

“How so?” asks Mannie, curious and a little alarmed at the prospect.

Nebula shakes her head. “Long story.”

Mannie frowns. “Well, I’ve got my phone, maybe you could try her anyway?”

Nebula turns, looks at her head-on. Mannie half-wants to pull back, because there’s something in Nebula’s eyes that’s unsettling, a darkness with roots deeper than the willow tree above them.

“I’d really rather not,” she says, quiet but firm.

Mannie blinks, decides she’s perfectly fine leaving it at that. “Okay,” she says brightly, trying not to show her worry. “Then how about you come home with me?”

Nebula blinks and cocks her head, and Mannie realizes what her much too chipper suggestion sounded like.

“Oh— no,” she hurries to add, feeling her cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean— it’s just, you shouldn’t be alone on a day like, uh. I’m not making this better, am I?” she sighs finally.

Nebula is giving her a warm, teasing smirk, with no trace of the expression Mannie had seen a moment ago.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she says, and Mannie’s face is going to melt soon, right? It can’t possibly maintain this elevated temperature much longer. 

“Thanks,” she mutters.

Nebula sends her a smile that fades too quickly. “You don’t have to,” she says softly.

“What?”

“Take me in,” Nebula explains. She won’t meet Mannie’s eye. “You don’t know me from Adam.”

“Maybe not,” Mannie concedes, “but I can’t just leave you here, either. Not when you don’t have any money, or a phone, or—”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Nebula counters, irritation creeping in. “Because if it’s pity—”

“It’s not,” Mannie tells her, emphatic enough that Nebula falls silent. She looks down at the rocky ground under their feet.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I have a hard time trusting people.”

_ I understand.  _ That’s what Mannie means to say. “I used to work for a man,” she hears herself begin instead. “He liked to tell me that I was stupid, that the university only hired me  _ for diversity,” _ she says with air quotes. “He got at least three women fired by blaming them for his mistakes, and he tried to sleep with half a dozen more.”

“Jesus,” Nebula mutters.

“But he really liked picking on me. He’d badmouth me to the others, misuse company resources and then give me shit because I couldn’t operate on the shoestring budget he left me. It got so bad that—” Mannie’s voice falters. “Do you know how deep the river is here?” she asks instead.

Nebula shakes her head without a word.

“I do,” says Mannie. “I know where it’s deepest, where the current is the strongest. And— I know how many rocks I’d have to put in my pockets to…”

“To keep you down,” Nebula finishes for her.

Mannie nods. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone out here.”

Nebula doesn’t speak. In the quiet, Mannie closes her eyes, thinks about the rushing water, about how strong that temptation used to be. How badly she wanted to get out, to get away. How easy it all seemed.

She opens her eyes again, finds the river exactly where she left it, rippling and reflecting scattered sunlight. This is her favorite spot, she told Nebula, and she was telling the truth. It’s her favorite spot because she’s fought for it. For the peace that it can bring her.

So much life in so small a space.

Mannie jumps a second later when Nebula’s hand touches hers. She looks down, watches their fingers intertwine.

“I’d love to go home with you,” Nebula says. “Thank you.”

Mannie smiles. It’s kind of watery, but it’s real, and it feels so good when Nebula returns it.

“This path will take us to my apartment,” Mannie says. “It kinda goes the long way around, but do you want—”

“Let’s go,” says Nebula. She gets to her feet at once, tugging Mannie up with her.  

They leave the shoes and flowers by the water, and Mannie leads them home.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com).


End file.
